


Alone

by apricotzel



Category: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Br'aad Vengolor Needs A Hug, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, Ob'nockshai fucks shit up, Panic Attacks, Sylnan Vengolor Has Abandonment Issues, Sylnan Vengolor Needs A Hug, Typical Just Roll With It Angst, wrote this a while ago it's a bit scuffed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23082463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricotzel/pseuds/apricotzel
Summary: SPOILERS FOR ARC 1 EP 21 OF JRWIIn which, two fighting brothers make irreversible mistakes...
Relationships: Br'aad Vengolor & Sylnan Vengolor, Briefly Hinted Ob'nockshai & Br'aad Vengolor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	Alone

**_(This is just me writing what I think happened when Br'aad left Sylnan ok enjoy-)_ **

_“I can’t even look at you right now.”_

Sylnan fought the urge to toss over in his makeshift bedroll. He had already fidgeted too much tonight, and Br’aad was supposed to think he was asleep.

The argument the two had played over and over in Sylnan’s mind. Despite days having passed between the fight and now, the two prideful brothers have yet to say a word to each other. Br’aad has turned to Sylnan before, mouth open, eyes sparkling with some witty joke he was about to say. But then something would...change. His eyes would darken, almost with an anger that wasn’t his. And he’d shut his mouth and turned away. It was getting harder and harder to live like this. Sylnan couldn’t coordinate plans to steal with Br’aad because he was, quite frankly, too stubborn to back down. Too stubborn to talk to him first. He refused to apologize.

Sylnan clutched his fist angrily. This was Br’aad’s fault anyway! If he hadn’t sold his soul to some stupid book they wouldn’t even be fighting now.

Br’aad had begun staying out later. Before, Sylnan would stay up past ungodly hours to see his brother slink into the old factory they called home. Sylnan, despite being filled with relief his brother was ok, would fix him with a glare. The two would stare at each other before respectively crawling into sleeping places. Sylnan noticed Br’aad moved his as far away from Sylnan’s as possible. 

Now, Sylnan didn’t bother staying up. He curled into his uncomfortable sleeping position and tried to get rest. But old habits die hard, as he couldn’t find himself able to sleep until he heard his brother snoring first.

But now, as Sylnan lied awake, Br’aad seemed to be doing...something. Sylnan heard him creep in hours ago. Now, Br’aad was probably doing some freaky magic shit. Sylnan tried to listen the best he could, with one, pointed ear pressed against the pillow which was, regrettably, dampened with late-night tears. 

Sylnan listened, and he heard Br’aad doing...something. That was all Sylnan was able to describe it. It was a faint scratching, followed by a frantic noise of paper rustling. A few words would be mumbled while Br’aad was scratching at...whatever. Sylnan couldn’t hear them. Sylnan could definitely hear the frustration though. In every action, Br’aad seemed to be redoing something. When he couldn’t get it right, he started over, frustration growing.

Sylnan bitterly wished his brother had done that with that stupid spell. Sylnan looked up as the moonlight caught on a small drawing. The two brothers, when younger, decided to stake claims to this factory by drawing messy doodles of themselves. They looked awful and were hastily attached to the wall by nails, but it was theirs. 

Drawing. That’s what Br’aad was doing. He was drawing. And he trying awfully hard to get it right.

The repetitive noise eventually became soothing to Sylnan. He started to doze, drifting between reality and dreamscapes. 

He didn’t know how long he was liked that before he was snapped back to reality by a sudden noise. Br’aad had sobbed. Only once, and it took Sylnan a second to even recognize what it was. A sharp, jagged inhale made him think at first Br’aad had somehow injured himself. When a shaky exhale followed, Sylnan wanted to do nothing more than leap up. 

Despite fighting with him, Br’aad was still his brother and brothers help brothers. He wanted to wrap his arm around Br’aad and hug him. Tell him it was ok. They were together. He forgave him.

But Br’aad hadn’t said sorry. He hadn’t admitted what he did was wrong. Sylnan refused to let Br’aad think this mistake was ok. Sylnan refused to let Br’aad think he didn’t change anything. There had to be consequences.

Still, Br’aad went quiet once more and resumed his drawing. The steady scratching once again lured Sylnan into peace. They could talk in the morning, he decided.

There would be time in the morning.

Sylnan’s eyes fluttered open gently. He sat up suddenly, unaware of how long he had been sleeping. His internal alarm clock seemed to be working, though, as pale dawn sunlight started to flicker in through the factory windows. 

He instinctively looked over Br’aad, but he wasn’t there. This didn’t cause panic. Along with staying out late, Br’aad had also taken up the habit of early morning walks. The first time he did it was the first time they spoke since the fight, but it was so awful Sylnan didn’t consider it talking. 

_“Where were you?” Sylnan had spat. He had spent the morning worried sick over his brother’s disappearance._

_Br’aad seemed taken aback, surprise causing him to blink a few times before responding. “W-well, uh, it was a beautiful morning outside, so I took a walk. To clear my head.”_

_“Since when do you take walks? Since when do you want to ‘clear your head’?” Sylnan said. Venom dripped from every word in his voice._

_Br’aad fixed him with a look he had never given Sylnan before. Rage. Sure, they had bickered before. Sure, Br’aad had gotten angry at him. But this was different. The anger, it was different. Br’aad opened his mouth before shutting it once more and stalking off._

Sylnan lazily shook his head, getting rid of the memory. He’d talk to Br’aad today when he got back. 

Sylnan wandered over to the drawing, curious at what his brother was doing last night. The drawing wasn’t hidden, but rather set out in the open. As if Br’aad wanted Sylnan to see it. 

The first thing Sylnan noticed about the drawing wasn’t the actual drawing itself. He noticed the tear marks splashed onto the page and felt a surge of guilt. Maybe he should’ve talked to Br’aad the night before. Sylnan then noticed the drawing. It was a bad scribble, for so much effort put into it, it took a second before Sylnan could figure out what it was.

A boat. It was a small, child boat on the ocean. On the boat was a stick figure with long hair and pointy ears. Sylnan assumed it was Br’aad. So the drawing was of Br’aad on a boat, and Br’aad had wanted Sylnan to see it. So what?

And then it clicked.

The paper fluttered to the ground as Sylnan dropped it, booking it out of the doors.

No, he couldn’t have. He wouldn’t- right?

Thoughts ran in Sylnan’s mind as his beaten-up shoes hit the pavement of the streets. He didn’t even bother staying out of sights, running straight through the streets. He bumped into women and men, hearing them scowl and yell after him, but Sylnan didn’t pause. He kept running.

A sharp hand grabbed onto his arm, stopping him. Sylnan whipped around adrenaline pumping. An old butcher had grabbed onto him, and Sylnan vaguely recognized him. He and Br’aad had stolen from him. 

Sylnan didn’t waste time. He didn’t have it. So, he immediately punched the butcher in his face with his free hand. The impact was sound and square. Adrenaline had lent Sylnan so much force he felt the butcher’s nose crack and break, blood spurting down the old man’s face. 

The butcher exclaimed and let go of Sylnan. Sylnan dipped into an alleyway, hearing footsteps of pursuit follow him.

He tried to keep calm, he knew the city like the back of his hand. 

But with every corner the butcher chased him down, Sylnan noticed he was getting further and further away from the docks.

He took wild turns, weaving through alleyways and streets and crowds. Entangling himself in routes he knew not to take but didn’t care anymore.

Voices in his head were at a crescendo, yelling at him, screaming at him, pleading him to go to the docks. But he had to lose the butcher first. 

Finally, when he weaved and ducked through the market day crowd, the butcher had lost him. 

Sylnan didn’t stop until he was deep in an abandoned alleyway. His chest heaved, throat and lungs burning. The entire time he didn’t even notice the cold tears leaving a slimy trail on his face. When he stopped, burning tears welled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. 

He collapsed to the floor. He was weak, exhausted. He didn’t know why. His chest tightened and he gasped, struggling for air. He fell to his knees, putting his head in his hands. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against the cool cobblestone floor. 

He sobbed, ragged attempts to breathe resulting in a little too much noise, but Sylnan couldn’t care. Tears fell out of his eyes, dripping onto the stone below him. His arms and entire body felt weak, so weak. He wanted to do nothing but lay down and cry. 

First his mother. Then his father. Then Katherine. And now Br’aad. The only person, _the only person_ who had stuck with Sylnan all those years, and Sylnan had driven him away. 

It was his fault. It was all his fault. If he had noticed Br’aad had felt like a liability. If he had noticed him slinking away to go learn how to sell his soul. If he had spoken to Br’aad like a normal human being. If he- if he- if he. He must have laid there for ten minutes.

Sylnan choked down a wail. His chest was still tight, but he forced himself to stagger to his feet. His entire world spun drastically, tilting this way and that. 

Sylnan _refused_ to have another person leave him. He would get Br’aad. He would apologize. They would talk it out. They would plan heists together, they wouldn’t sleep on other sides of the factories. They would talk.

Sylnan was going to get his brother back. 

He knew the Wharf like the back of his hand. He set off down the streets once more. His chest still constricted, his world still tilting. Tears openly welled and fell down his face. He slammed into walls and people, but never stopped running. He didn’t want to lose another person.

The docks came into view. The dark, murky sea, blindingly reflected light. Salt tinged the air. 

Stone became wood beneath Sylnan’s feet. He misjudged where the docks ended, whether it is his frantic thinking or blurry tears causing him to run straight off the edge. 

He screamed as he felt his foot come down hard on nothing, plunging straight forward. He expected murky water to envelop him. He choked when he felt himself be suspended in the air. A quick hand had grasped the collar of his shirt, holding him back.

“Woah, lad,” A strange voice said, hoisting Sylnan back up onto the dock with surprising strength, “Don’t want to become fish bait there. What are you in such a hurry for?” 

Sylnan gasped, taking in the cold sea air. He barely took in the man, just that he was human, and a stranger. But a kind one, at that. 

“My brother,” Sylnan cried, “Have you seen him?”

The man looked confused, “I’m sorry, who?”

Sylnan felt frustrated. “My brother!” He yelled, “H-he has long blonde hair. Pointy ears. H-he has a _stupid_ fucking purple tattoo on his face! He wears green, he- he- he probably didn’t know what he was doing. He probably l-looked lost-t!” Sobs broke up Sylnan’s words as he caved in on himself, hugging himself desperately, praying to every deity out there that his brother was on this dock.

The man fixed him with a look of pity. “I have seen him,” He started.

Sylnan’s eyes filled with tears of hope, but when they fell they were cold and worthless as the man continued, crushing any sense of happiness Sylnan had felt.

“But he boarded a ship. It left ten minutes ago. I’m sorry, lad, he’s gone.” The man continued.

Sylnan felt... numb. That was the only way to describe it. The voices in his head were quiet. The dock was quiet. The man was just staring at him.

For the first time, Sylnan felt utterly, truly, alone.

Despite the man keeping his hand on his shoulder, Sylnan wanted to do nothing more than launch himself off of the dock and let the murky water down below decide his fate. 

He was alone. 


End file.
